Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Why the hell are they here if they have nothing on me?” Raphael keeps screaming. “There’s nothing-”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” the navigator screams. “I can only tell you what I heard-”

“What did you tell them?”

“Tell them? Me? I don’t understand-”

“Don’t mess with me! Just tell me what the fuck you told them!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Coming from you, that’s strange… most unusual, very strange indeed. Don’t you think so?”

“I only listened in as I was told to, I didn’t-”

“Why don’t you confess!” Raphael roars as he leaps toward the navigator and pushes the knife deep into his belly.

There is little resistance as the knife slides through his shirt, his fat, and into his intestines. Blood is channeled past the knife and spatters on Raphael’s hand and arm and even onto his gym clothes. A confused expression comes over the navigator’s face as he tries to step backward to get away from the knife, but Raphael looks deep into his eyes.

The beautiful music still filters up from the dining room. Unbelievably rapid notes dance up and down the scale.

“It could be Axel Riessen,” the gray-haired bodyguard says abruptly. “Maybe he was bugged… maybe he’s in contact with the police…”

Raphael jerks the knife back out of the navigator’s body and throws himself down the stairs.

The navigator stands still, holding his stomach as blood drops onto his black shoes. He tries to walk, but slides to the ground instead and lies there, staring mutely at the ceiling.

Raphael’s bodyguard is running behind him, holding his rifle ready to fire as they both run down the carpeted stairs.

Axel stops playing when Raphael comes roaring in, pointing to him with the bloody knife.

“You traitor!” he roars. “You betrayed me!”

The bodyguard suddenly fires his rifle at the window, the bullets slamming through while the brass casings clatter down the stairs.

Lars Kepler

The Nightmare

112 automatic fire

Joona and Niko run up the winding stairs, past the lower deck and to the huge afterdeck. The silent ocean is like an infinite glass plate spreading in all directions. Oddly, they hear violin music. Joona tries to see what’s beyond the glass doors, but he can make out only vague shapes behind the mirrored surface. He can see only part of the dining room, but no people. The music continues feverishly. It’s as distant as a dream, sound dampened by the doors.

They pause for a few seconds and then they dash past an open area with a dump heap for a swimming pool. Silently, they run across the sunken terrace and over to the metal stairs.

Footsteps sound overhead and Niko points to the stairs. They press their bodies against the wall.

The light, playful notes are clearer now. The violinist’s work is extraordinary. Joona peeks into the enormous dining room and sees the odd arrangement of office equipment on the impressive table. He still can see no people; the person playing the music must be beyond the wide stairs.

Joona motions for Niko to follow and cover his back as he points to the captain’s bridge overhead.

The violin stops abruptly in the middle of an ascending, beautiful run.

Very suddenly.

Joona throws his body behind the stairs at the same moment automatic fire slams out. Quick, hard bangs. The full metal jacket bullets splinter the stairs where he’d just been standing and are now ricocheting in all directions.

Joona crouches farther back, behind the stairs, and feels an adrenaline rush. Niko has found cover behind a lifeboat crane and is returning fire. Joona, bent over, sees the row the bullet holes have made in the dark glass, like frosted rings around black pupils.

The gray-haired bodyguard continues down the stairs with his weapon steadily aimed at the windows. Smoke trickles from his rifle and the casings are still bouncing down the stairs.

Peter has curled into a ball and holds his hands over his ears.

Silently the bodyguard slips out a side door.

Axel is backing away between the tables, holding the violin and its bow, and retreating as Raphael points at him with the knife.

“How could you ruin everything?” he roars as he tries to catch up to Axel. “I’m going to cut up your face, I’m going to-”

“Pappa, what’s going on?” screams Peter.

“Get my gun and get on the helicopter! We’re leaving this boat!”

The boy nods. His face is pale, his chin wobbles. Raphael skirts around tables toward Axel. Axel moves backward and throws down chairs between them.

“Load it with Parabellum, hollow-point!” commands Raphael.

“How many?” the boy asks. “One magazine?”

“Yes, that’s enough-but hurry!” Raphael yells as he kicks aside a chair.

Axel is trying to get through the door on the other side of the room. He turns the lock one-handed, but the door won’t open.

“I’m not finished with you!” howls Raphael.

Axel shakes the door again with his free hand and then sees the bolt high up. Raphael is barging closer. The knife glistens in his hand. Axel reacts impulsively and whirls around to hurl the beautiful violin at Raphael. It tumbles in the air, red and glowing. Raphael jumps aside and trips but still lunges as he tries to save the instrument. He almost catches it, but fumbles although he’s broken its fall. The violin skitters across the floor with a sibilant whisper.

Axel has gotten the door open and rushes out into a cluttered hallway. There’s so much trash he can hardly get through. He clambers over a heap of lounge-chair pillows and over a pile of diving masks and wet suits.

“I’ll get you!” Raphael is following him with the knife in one hand and the violin in the other.

Axel’s foot gets caught in the mesh of a rolled-up tennis net. He crawls away, kicking at it as Raphael draws nearer.

Short, hard bursts of automatic fire can be heard outside.

Raphael pounces, driving the knife down at Axel, but he misses as Axel kicks himself loose. He scrambles to his feet and knocks over a foosball table to block Raphael, then rushes again down the hallway to the door at the end. His hands fumble with the lock and the handle, but something blocks it shut. He shoves. The door opens a crack.

“You can’t get away from me!”

Axel tries to press himself through the gap, but it’s too narrow. The edge of a large shelving unit stacked with clay pots is in the way. Axel throws his whole weight against the door and the unit beyond scrapes a few inches. He can feel Raphael behind him. He shoves once more and finally can squeeze his body through. He tears his hand on the lock but he can’t notice. He must get out of there.

With a scream, Raphael stretches out and swipes down with the knife. The blade rips Axel’s shoulder. It burns with pain.

Axel stumbles into a room with a glass ceiling that looks like a forgotten greenhouse. He runs again, feeling for his shoulder, covering his fingers with blood. He stumbles over a withered lemon tree in a pot and rushes on, bent over, along rows of dead plants with dry, rustling leaves.

Raphael is kicking powerfully at the door. He grunts at every kick. The pots shake as the shelving unit is shoved aside, bit by bit.

Axel searches frantically for a hiding place. He crawls under a dirty plastic sheet hanging down from one of the banks of plants. He keeps crawling past buckets and tubs. He prays Raphael will give up soon and escape from the boat with his son.

There’s a thundering boom from the door, and a few pots smash on the floor. Raphael wrenches his way into the room, panting hard, and nudges against a trellis with withered grape vines.